Stephen Bigelow, PhD - Education Leadership

I have been back in Brazil for almost a week now, and the kindness people have shown has been extraordinary. The messages, conversations, and gestures of support have meant more to me than I can fully express. But in many ways, I’m not surprised. That has been my experience with Brazil from the very beginning. It is a place where people lead with warmth and generosity. Brazil has also been a place of enormous change and growth for me. When I first came here, it was always with the assumption that my wife, Kristin, would eventually be living here with me. That was part of the story we were writing together. Life, of course, sometimes rewrites the story. Kristin and I started dating when I was a junior at the University of Michigan. She was a senior, "the older woman". We were engaged during my senior year and married when I was just 22 years old. I am now 50, and our daughter is following our footsteps by studying at UofM. And now, for the first time in my adult life, I find m...

It is very early on a Thursday morning as I write this. Jet lag, emotion, and life have a way of waking you before the sun. I want to say thank you. The messages, calls, notes, and quiet gestures of support over the past few days have meant more than I can possibly express. When life tilts suddenly, you find out very quickly how many people are standing nearby, ready to steady you. I have felt that steadiness. Kristin was an extraordinary woman. We met in college as two kids who thought we had things figured out. We grew up together over nearly 30 years, married almost 28 of them. Most of the best parts of me were sharpened, softened, strengthened, or outright created because of her. She had high standards, deep empathy, a subtle sense of humor, and a fierce love for her family. She was also far more private than I am. And out of love and respect for her, that privacy will remain. Some stories are sacred. Some struggles are not meant for public consumption. What I will say is this: she...

  Midway check-in from my first Carnaval. Yes, the gringo is still standing. For those who’ve been checking on me — thank you. Apparently, I have a reputation for finding myself in interesting situations. I prefer to call it full cultural immersion. I’ve gone everywhere people told me to avoid and done everything they said I shouldn’t. Spectacular so far. Camarotes are nice. The streets are where the real story is. Seven days? I think I’ve got this.

  Last Saturday morning, I woke up with what I assumed was a headache earned the old-fashioned way. A little too much wine the night before. A rookie mistake. Except…that explanation didn’t really hold water. Over the years, I’ve built up a fairly respectable tolerance, and this felt different. By midday, it became clear that I hadn’t overdone it. What followed was a seven-day odyssey that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but will absolutely write about. Enter dengue fever. Thanks to the truly life-saving dipirona (which I am now convinced is the greatest medication ever invented and, naturally, illegal in the United States), my days became a strange cycle. High fever. Then, suddenly, I’d turn into a walking swimming pool as the medication kicked in. Add in joint pain that made me feel 30 years older, dizziness, tinnitus, bloodshot eyes, and the general sense that my body and I were no longer on speaking terms. And then, just as mysteriously as it arrived, it left. At approximately noon ...